All for One and One for All
by Bri-Gils
Summary: Ever wonder how Racetrack Higgins became a Newsie and got the name Racetrack? This is his story. Rated T for safe. MultiChap. Other Newsies make appearances too! Mostly based on the Musical, except for the Francis Sullivan part


Ever wonder how Racetrack Higgins became a Newsie and got the name Racetrack? This is his story. I DO NOT OWN NEWSIES!

* * *

"Oh, my baby boys are growing up!" My mother sighed as our maid, Maria, served my twin brother, Robert, and I chicken broth.

"Now, you know we won't get to celebrate until after my St. Patrick's Day Celebration." My father told us, a small smile on his lips as he spoke of the party.

_As always…_ I couldn't help but think. For each of my past seven birthdays, Robert and I have been sent to bed before the party even ended. There was a slim chance this year would be any different.

"Mrs. Phillips informed me that Mr. Carnegie was coming!" My mother exclaimed after swallowing a spoonful of broth. "Willie! Why did you not tell me?"

"It was going to be a surprise, but I guess word gets around." My father's grin reached from ear to ear. The one thing my father enjoyed most was showing off how successful he was. Not a day went by when he didn't tell me, my brothers, and my sister "Money makes the world go round". How I hated that. Even at barely eight years old, that saying seemed so wrong. I knew that when I grew up I wouldn't live like I am now.

"Isabella is also coming." My 16 year old brother, Timothy, smiled goofily at the thought of his girlfriend. "I was thinking of asking her hand in marriage soon."

I slurped some broth to keep myself from making a comment._ Children should be seen, not heard._ I honestly couldn't understand why Timothy would want to get married. Not even a year ago, he talked about working as a journalist for our father's paper, The Liberty Ledger, and never getting married. He might work for TLL, but he's not writing articles. I couldn't see myself doing that. Any of this.

* * *

"Papes! Papes for sale!" A loud, scratchy voice ran out over the St. Patrick's Day parade. "Start off ya St. Patty's day with da News!"

"Why do they do that?" I tugged on my 12 year old sister, Amelia's, dress to get her attention.

"Do what, William?" She tore her eyes away from the parade.

"Sell papes. The boy over there looks hardly older than me!" I exclaimed.

"_Newspapers_, not _papes_." Amelia scolded. "You're not a newsboy. That's what they are. Little boys who sell newspapers because they need to make their own money. Don't speak like them, you're better than that."

As Amelia went back to watching the entertainment, I found my eyes drawn to a boy holding newspapers not too far from me. He was a little shorter than me, with tan skin and a dark, shaved head. The thought of earning for yourself, wandering wherever and whenever- it felt _exhilarating_. What makes me better than them- because I have a family? Or was it because I was getting an education?

I turned away from the boy to look at my family. They weren't paying attention to me, as usual. I turned my back to them and began walking towards the Newsboy.

"How much is a pape?" I asked him, while noticing he was almost my height, exactly. But skinnier. Much skinnier.

"Penny fo' one." He answered, staring at my attire. I felt weird standing next to him. I was wearing a stripped collared shirt with dress pants, a tailored jacket, green tie, and slip on shoes. He wore a white Henley, trousers that looked too short with suspenders, and old leather boots with laces. And a gray cap. I couldn't take my eyes off the cap. "You really gonna buy one?" His accent seemed so much thicker than what I usually heard.

I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out the nickel my father gave me for my birthday. "I'll take five."

I felt oddly satisfied as he looked, stunned, from the nickel in my hand to my face.

"D'you even know how to read, kid?" He asked me, counting out the five newspapers.

"A little." I felt myself smirk. "You know what? Keep those papers for another customer, just take the nickel. My father would kill me if he saw me with any papes but his, anyway."

The boy looked at me with doubt in his face, but took the nickel anyway. He handed me one newspaper. "I keep my promises. I'll give you da other papes some other time. Who is your pop's paper?"

"Liberty Ledger." I answered. The newspaper he gave me read _The World_. "Have a happy St. Patrick's Day."

He tipped his cap to me, with a smirk, before disappearing in the crowd. I walked back to my family, only to find a face identical to mine staring at me.

"Why were you talking to him?" Robert asked me as I scrunched up _The World_ and threw it behind me.

"I bought a pa- a newspaper. The boy needed money. There's nothing wrong with helping someone who doesn't have any." _And there's nothing wrong with being that person either._

* * *

It was times like this that I hated. Times when my father would brag about how Timothy found a way to save 3% of Liberty Ledger's spending money, how Amelia is reading Shakespeare plays, how Robert and I can divide fractions already and will be the Liberty Ledger's "big-time accountants" when we get older.

What a waste of a birthday.

"Well, I'm not surprised that the Watson's aren't here." I overheard Mrs. Phillip's telling my mother at the party. I glanced at Robert to see if he was also listening. His eyes were on his hands in his lap. "Did you hear about little Michael going missing? Paul is convinced the boy ran away."

"William, Robert." My mother turned to us. The tone in her voice made it obvious she didn't want us to listen. "It's late, up to bed now."

After bidding good night, my thoughts ran a mile a minute. '_…The boy ran away.'_ Oh how I wished I could do that. I didn't even have anything to drag along with me! Wait a second, I could! Why wait until I was older to live the way I wanted to? But where would I go… The Newsboy from earlier today popped into my mind. _I could sell papes…_

* * *

A few hours past as butterflies in my stomach grew. The party goers have left and my birthday slowly came to a close as I collected all the money I could find in my bedroom.

Praying that no floorboards would creak, I made my way to the front door. _Just take a deep_ _breath and don't look back, _I told myself. My arm didn't want to turn the doorknob. _Why am I doing this?_ Suddenly, I heard a creak from above and my heart skipped a beat. _Someone's awake!_ I threw open the door and slammed it behind me. Then I ran. I didn't know where I was going. Only that I didn't look back.

* * *

"I'm tellin' ya, I just went to my usual spot and he was lyin' there sleepin'!" A deep voice made me stir in my sleep.

"By da Racetrack?" A second voice croaked.

"Yeah.

"Hey! He is da boy who bought papes from me at da parade!" A familiar voice made me open my eyes. My last memory was falling asleep on concrete in an unfamiliar part of Manhattan, so how I was now on a hard mattress was a mystery.

"Hey, Racetrack boy." The boy who owned the first voice greeted me. He looked around Timothy's age, maybe a little older. A maroon cap was placed over his curly, red hair. "Ya hungry? Slept all da way 'til lunch!"

I sat up and nodded, taking in my surroundings. I was sitting on one of the ten top bunks in a long room.

As the redhead went to get food, a raven-haired teenager with a new, high-pitched voice, said to me, "I'm Pitchy. The big guy is Vin." He motioned to a tan teenager, who most likely owned the second voice, "And Fr- Jack. The small guy's Jack." He pointed to the kid who sold me the papers.

"So what happened to you, Racetrack boy?" Jack asked me. "Ain't your pop workin' at Liberty Ledger or sumpthin?"

"Or sumpthin'" I mumbled in retaliation. "I don't like my family. I don't want the kind of life they have."

"Ya mean one with a family and money?" Pitchy asked. I felt myself blush at his gaze. "Ya can tell ya from uppa' class 'cuz of ya accent."

"Oh." I pulled on my collar as the redhead climbed back up the bunk with a slice of bread. As he handed it to me I noticed he was missing his Ring finger on his left hand. "Well, upperclass isn't as great as people think. Do you all sell papes?"

"Yep." Vin answered. "Pitchy an me been since we was ten. Ring here, since he was seven, and Jack since he was six. Ya wanna sell 'em?"

_Do I?_ "Sure!"

"It's too late to start today. I'll take ya out wit my pal, Crutchie, tomorrow to show ya how to be a Newsie."

For the fist time in eight years, I felt truly excited.

* * *

Thanks so much for reading! Please please please review and I'll post the next chapter as soon as possible! :)

~Bri


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